


Writings On The Wall

by MacPye



Series: We'll Return In A Moment [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. S1 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1643603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MacPye/pseuds/MacPye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I’m thinking this is an unexpected reunion," Melinda remarked, breaking the silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Writings On The Wall

He thought it was kind of clever. People disguised as hikers and mountaineers could come and go pretty much unnoticed.

 

Yeah, it was clever. But he was also painfully aware that he and his two companions weren't looking anywhere close to outdoor sports people. Actually, they looked like people who'd been in a plane crash, which was more or less accurate.

 

They slowly made their way through the Wind River mountain range, trying to get to an off the beaten track area. Natasha (he could only assume it had been her, she was the only one with his burn phone's number) had texted him a location when they'd made landfall on North American soil. For a moment, they'd debated whether or not they could trust this intel, but Wanda had glared at him, her hair still dripping salt water, and Pietro had pretty much sided with her, which left the decision with him. He'd chosen to trust the message, knowing Natasha was unlikely to either just give up her phone like that, or send him useless info. It had taken them less than four days to start their hike, which he was quite proud of, despite everything.

 

So here they were, worn out, hungry and moody, dragging their feet through the fallen needles of yet another pine forest. Yet more mountain range loomed close by over the tops of the trees.

 

"Can we just pause for a moment?" Pietro asked, sagging down on a lump of rock.

 

"We could do that, yeah," Clint said, "but we might not want to get up again. And I do _not_ want to sleep here. Did I tell you about the grizzlies and the black bears? I _did_ tell you about them, didn't I." A slightly manic grin flashed across Clint's face. "So, yeah, no, I don't think it's a good idea to pause. Anyway, this ... _thing_ should be close by."

 

"You don't even know what it is!" Pietro complained. Wanda pinched his arm; "It's not going to be useless, P.  It'll at least be a safe house, right?" She turned her imploring gaze on Clint.

 

"It's probably even more important than that, considering the location. I've rarely been to a more remote safe house location, and that includes that one time in Moldova - " Clint's jaw snapped shut suddenly.

 

"What?" Wanda said, puzzled.

 

It had been a mission with Natasha and Coulson. They'd been forced to huddle together, waiting for an extraction,  a small, cast iron stove the only source of heat, a single smelly horse blanket the only cover besides their clothes. Without discussion, Natasha and Clint had sandwiched Coulson between them -- his windbreaker was hardly winter appropriate. He'd spluttered for a moment, but stopped protesting under the onslaught of Natasha's glare. They'd not expected to be holed up in an abandoned rural shack, but the original plan had gone tits up, and while they'd managed to complete the mission, they had, in the end, been stuck in something that barely merited the label 'house', their original vehicle outside, riddled with scorch marks, tank and battery empty.

 

Clint mostly remembered how comfortable it was, the fingers of his right hand intertwined with Natasha's left, their arms crossing Coulson's back, his left hand holding the itchy horse blanket high under Coulson's chin, Natasha's right doing the same thing and overlapping his. He remembered the warmth of Natasha's fingers, the shifting of Coulson's back, the way Coulson's aftershave was increasingly drowned out by the smell of horse.

 

He remembered how all tension had left Coulson's face, the lines around his eyes and mouth smooth, and he'd asked why that was, and Coulson had turned his head fractionally to look his way, fond warmth crinkling the corners of his eyes, and he'd answered, "Because you're both here."

 

It was the first time Coulson had expressed absolute confidence in both of them to their faces.

 

As with most of their other ops, simply mentioning a location (Budapest, Kuala Lumpur, Tripoli... ) would bring back a flash of sensory memories to Clint. Sometimes the metallic tang of blood, sometimes the scent of dust mixed with Natasha's shampoo, but, most often in the past two years, it was the soothing scent of Coulson's aftershave which took centre stage.

 

" _What_?" Wanda repeated, a little more urgently.

 

"Nothing. Never mind," Clint muttered darkly. Sometimes, unexpectedly, memories of Coulson still stung. "Let's just get going again."

 

 

\---------

 

 

"There's a second one," Skye told her in an undertone. Melinda sighed and put down her tablet.

 

"Where is it?"

 

"Storage Two," Skye answered. "I only noticed it because I was looking for detergent."

 

Melinda frowned at her. "Detergent?"

 

Skye huffed. "Hell, yeah, detergent. I want to be able to wear my own clothes again at some point. I mean, these S.H.I.E.L.D. issue sweat pants are comfy, sure, but..." She gestured at the black-on-black ensemble with S.H.I.E.L.D. logos, which was pretty much the same as everyone else was wearing. "I kind of like my individual style."

 

Melinda let out a single, small laugh. "Okay, detergent." She unfolded herself from the chair. "Show me."

 

They walked side by side down the winding corridors of the underground base. Skye opened the door designated 'Storage Two; Domestic', and Melinda followed her to the back of the room, past metal storage shelving filled with more toothpaste, shower gel, and, yes, detergent, than she'd even seen in a single mega store.

 

The back wall had been painted blue, presumably to distinguish it from Storage One (yellow, Edibles) and Three (Red, Linen).  Between the first time she'd been in here - which had been their first evening at the base, to collect products for everyone - and the moment Skye had found it, someone had scored delicate lines about a quarter of an inch deep into the wall, showing white against the primary color.

 

She allowed her hand to lightly skim the pattern of lines, circles and ovals. It was similar to the one they'd found on the wall between the Tech Lab and the undesignated storage unit that contained the stuff they'd brought from the Bus.

 

"It's not exactly the same," Skye said, pulling up a picture on her tablet of the taupe wall on which the first dramatic pattern had appeared. "It's almost as if it's a continuation of the previous one."

 

"Did you tell the others?" Melinda asked, absently tracing a circle.

 

"Not yet," said Skye, studying her tablet. "I mean, Simmons is -- too preoccupied to really do anything with the previous one, although it might actually be a good thing to occupy her with this -- and Trip's been uneasy but okay with not discussing it, yet. Koenig seems oblivious. And..." she hesitated.

 

"Coulson hasn't brought it up," Melinda finished her sentence, her face blank.

 

Skye looked troubled. "You think he doesn't know?"

 

Melinda remembered watching the security footage of him selecting a survival knife and his progress of nocturnal wall carving. She traced another eerily straight line.

 

"Oh, he _knows_."

 

 

\----------

 

 

An alarm sounded through the hallways, and Trip rushed to Koenig's office.

 

"What's going on?" he demanded.

 

"We appear to have visitors," Koenig replied lightly, despite frantically tapping on his keyboard. Trip rounded the desk and looked over his shoulder. Several security camera feeds were on the middle and right hand screens, while the left showed three thermal signatures near the entrance to the base. An outside camera zoomed in on the figure with their hands raised above their head, presumably because they'd set off a canon.

 

"That's _Hawkeye_ ," Trip realized out loud, staring at the man's face.

 

Koenig shot him an irritated look over his shoulder. "I can _see_ that. What's he doing here?" He tapped on his keyboard again. "More importantly, why is he not reacting to the audio?"

 

They watched as a young woman gestured wildly at Hawkeye from her cover, and he turned his head to look at her. He stared at her as she seemed to relay something to him. He blinked a few times and turned back to the canon. Koenig turned up the audio from the security feed.

 

"Er, sorry, I didn't hear you, my batteries have died.  Agent Clinton F. Barton, codename Hawkeye, member of the Avengers Initiative. The people with me are Wanda and Pietro, I helped them escape a Hydra science lab." He gestured vaguely over his shoulderto where two people appeared to be huddled behind a tree.

 

" _Batteries??_ " Koenig and Trip chorused.

 

"For his hearing aids," Coulson told them from the doorway. He stepped towards the desk. "Let them in."

 

"But, sir, how can we -" Koenig protested.

 

"He's an _Avenger_ , Koenig," Coulson chastised him.

 

Koenig hesitated another moment, then shrugged and entered the code to allow them into the base.

 

"Trip, could you intercept them ASAP and bring them to the dining area?" Coulson asked Trip, his focus intense.

 

"Sure thing, sir, but wouldn't _you_ rather -- " Coulson's look interrupted Trip. His gaze was sharp, but Trip could tell he was masking a large dose of panic with it, and then it dawned on him. "Barton doesn't know you're alive."

 

Coulson let out an eloquent little sigh, and looked away. "I'll find May and let her do The Talk," he said quietly.

 

If Trip could help alleviate any tension, he was more than happy to divert Barton. "Don't worry, sir," he assured with a smile, "you can count on me." Coulson managed a small smile at that, and Trip flashed him a grin on his way out of the office.

 

 

\--------

 

 

"Hey, man, what's an archer like you doing in a base like this?"

 

Clint snorted loudly. "Shit, Trip, you always did have the best pick-up lines!"

 

Trip strode forward down the hallway, grinning broadly, and lifted his hand. Clint, having been moving forward himself, grasped the outstretched hand, and shook it with gusto.

 

"Damn, it's good to see you're still around," Clint said.

 

"Likewise, man, likewise," Trip assured him. When Clint finally let go of his hand, he turned to take in the young man and woman behind him. "I hear you've escaped Hydra scientists?" The two mutely looked at him, their faces serious.

 

"Don't worry, they're not very talkative," Clint told him. "Plus, they don't trust a whole lot of people. Can't say I blame them, considering what those sickos at that lab did to them..."

 

Trip wasn't exactly sure what to do with that, so he just went with, "So, you guys hungry?" The faces before him instantly lit up. Trip let out a laugh. "I can't promise it's going to be good, but I've been preparing some chicken..."

 

With the promise of food on the horizon, the three new guests were only too eager to follow him to the dining area.

 

 

\---------

 

 

"May," was all Coulson said. Melinda looked him up and down. His tone was tense, there was a pronounced crease between his eyebrows, his chin jutting forward, his jaw was set; but besides that, his hands were working at his sides, and his nostrils were wide. He was nervous.

 

"We need to talk, Coulson," she told him, her head indicating the door she'd just exited - Storage Two.

 

Hesitation and a hint of fear flashed across his face before he seemed to deflate, his shoulders hunched forward. "Yes, I know," he admitted quietly. "But now it not the time."

 

She raised an eyebrow at him.

 

"I first need you to talk to Barton," he elaborated in a rush. "Tell him - well, tell him I'm not as dead as he was made to believe."

 

"Barton is here?" she interrupted.

 

"Yes," he said, "Trip's taking him and two others to the dining area. May, please, you need to - "

 

"You want to put this on me?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

 

"May, please," he repeated, looking at her imploringly. She sighed at his desperation.

 

"Okay, why?"

 

"I'm not - I can't be sure - what his reaction will be," Coulson explained, twisting his hands together.

 

"It matters to you," she observed, not showing her surprise.

 

Coulson nodded, eyes searching her face. "You know how you felt when you heard that I'd - " he hesitated for a moment, "and you know how much I'd worked with Barton and Romanoff after you'd left the team."

 

She put a hand on his forearm, and squeezed. "I remember." He managed an uncertain smile at that. She sighed, letting her hands fall to her sides. "Alright, I'll talk to him. But you stick close by."

 

"Thank you, I will," Coulson said. "And I'll have Hill talk to the rest of the Avengers."

 

Melinda smiled. "Oh, _that_ , I want to watch."

 

 

\-------- 

 

 

"I'm guessing you really like the chicken," Trip observed dryly, as he watched the three new people eat eagerly.

 

"I don't think it really matters to them how it tastes," Sky said, grinning. "Food's food."

 

"Wow, thanks for the confidence vote," Trip returned, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

 

"I'm sure they think it's great," Jemma said, "they just haven't come up for oxygen, yet."

 

"They still need to undergo a lie detector test," grumped Koenig.

 

"They'll do no such thing," Clint managed, his mouth half full. "Scientists have prodded these kids enough for them to be paranoid about things like that, and if you don't trust a _flippin' Avenger_ , I don't know what the world's come to."

 

"Amen to that," muttered Trip.

 

"Didn't know you were religious," Melinda marked, as she strode in.

 

"Some things just happen to be gospel truths," Trip shrugged.

 

Clint's face had lit up the moment Melinda had entered. "May!" he crowed, throwing his arms wide, chicken bones still in both hands. Melinda frowned at him amusedly, and he realized he was still holding them. He put them down on his plate, still grinning.

 

"Damn it, May, if I wasn't smelling like a dead vole and greased up with chicken, I'd be greeting you properly," he said.

 

"Thanks, but no thanks," she said, her nose wrinkling. She sat down at the head of the table, and let two small things drop out of her hand. Clint glanced at them, and his grin widened. "Heard your batteries were dead," Melinda said, indicating the two micro button cells.

 

Trip stepped forward. "Let me have a look," he said, indicating the batteries and Clint's ears. Clint reached to take out the small hearing aids, and handed them over to Trip, who folded them into a napkin with a mildly disgusted face. "Clean them first," he mouthed dramatically, and Clint laughed.

 

The three guests ate and drank some more as Melinda waited, and Trip installed the new batteries.

 

"Here you go," Trip said after a few minutes, handing the aids back to Clint, who quickly put them back into his ears. His grin was broad as he could hear he had surround sound again. "Thanks, Trip!"

 

"No problem," Trip said, waving it away.

 

"Time I told you something," Melinda said, bracing herself.

 

"Fury's dead, I know," Clint said with feigned disinterest, pushing stuff around on his plate.

 

The corners of Melinda's mouth went up a fraction. "He isn't, but you're making it a little easier on me."

 

"What?" Clint said, looking up.

 

"He likes people to believe that, true," Melinda went on, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms in front of her. "He's also wanted people to believe someone else is dead."

 

She watched as the gears turned in Clint's head, and his face went slack, overwhelmed. "... _Coulson_?" he managed in a hoarse whisper.  His eyes slowly left her face to focus on something behind her. In the doorway. _Damn it, drama queen_ , she thought, both amused an irritated as she turned to find Coulson had chosen the most opportune moment to reveal himself.

 

"Whoa, there, stay in your seat," Trip said, as Clint nearly slipped out. He suddenly looked feeble.

 

Coulson, meanwhile, looked almost fragile, his face pale, knuckles white, eyes over-bright. Melinda got up from her chair and led him to it, made him sit down. Coulson rested his hands on the table top, mere inches from Clint's.

 

"Heeeeyy, Wanda, Pietro, d'you want to see where your rooms are?" Skye exclaimed, putting on extra cheer. "Come on guys, let Trip and Jemma and Billy and me show you!" She practically dragged Pietro out of his chair. Trip snorted, shrugged, and herded the rest of the group out of the room.

 

Finally, Melinda sat down opposite Clint, on Coulson's other side. "I'm thinking this is an unexpected reunion," she remarked, breaking the silence.

 

 

 

\---------

 

 

"So, here's your rooms, right next to each other," Skye pointed out. "They have their own bathrooms, and wifi, but I'm guessing you didn't bring any electronics..."

 

"You know, that's really my role here," muttered Koenig.

 

"Cheer up, Billy," Skye said, "you can get them clean clothes and towels and stuff. Speaking of, if you want what you're wearing cleaned, I'm having a big laundry session in a bit."

 

Wanda and Pietro glanced at each other. "Actually, we'd very much like to burn this gear," Wanda said.

 

"That would be a fire hazard," Koenig said.

 

"But I'm sure we can arrange something," Jemma added, frowning at Koenig. "We have some labs. There's a, a, an amount of chemicals. I'm sure we could give this stuff a vengeful send-off."

 

"There's a range," Trip stepped in, "we could shoot it, first."

 

 

\-------

 

 

 

"Unexpected?" Clint managed. "I thought it was impossible!"

 

"Trust me, so did I," Coulson said. "With S.H.I.E.L.D. fallen to pieces, I never expected to see anyone again."

 

"Yeah, but I thought you were _dead_ ," Clint pointed out, his left index finger stabbing the air in front of Coulson.

 

Coulson grimaced. "I was." Clint drew in a breath.

 

"I _was_ dead," Coulson quickly continued. "I didn't know, at first, how long. After my recovery, I was told it was seconds. I had vague memories of a time spent in Tahiti." He swallowed. "It turns out, those were false memories, written into my brain to block out what had really happened to me. I was dead for _days_. Fury moved heaven and earth to undo that, employed less than ethical methods to revive me. I've since found out that T.A.H.I.T.I. was a more than secret program initiated to act in case - in case an Avenger died. I don't remember it, but it appears I led it, under Fury's orders, but had decided that it was so unethical, that it should be closed down and never be used. I even threatened to resign over it." His nostrils flared as he tried to contain himself, and he momentarily glanced at Melinda. She nodded almost imperceptibly.

 

Clint stared at him. "In case an Avenger died?" he repeated, his voice a croak.

 

Coulson knitted his fingers together before him. "I'm not sure why Fury decided that was needed. I can only think he found the Avengers too valuable to the world at large to let any go if he could help it." He let out a small laugh. "I pointed it out to him, you know. That it was for an Avenger. You know what he said? ' _Exactly.'_ That's what he said."

 

Clint allowed a small grin. "He considers you an Avenger."

 

Coulson looked up, a watery smile on his face. "The original plan was that I'd be a liaison between S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers, if the Initiative took off."

 

"You always were good at herding Stark," Clint grinned. "You were one of the first to meet Thor. And you'd worked with Natasha and me for years. If anyone could have gained the trust of the whole team, it'd been you."

 

"It's a station we passed, though," Coulson sighed. "If anything, I think Hill is now better placed for that particular job."

 

" _Hill?_ " Clint said, incredulously.

 

"She's gone through Pepper Potts and managed to get a job in security at Stark Industries," Melinda clarified.

 

"Right," managed Clint.

 

"Although I can't imagine Pepper will be too pleased with her when she finds out Hill knew you were alive all this time," Melinda went on, carefully studying her nails.

 

"That... might cause some trouble," admitted Coulson with good humor. He raised an eyebrow at Melinda. "You're not vengeful _at all_ , are you?"

 

"Me?" Melinda said innocently. "I don't know what you're talking about."

 

 

\-------

 

 

 

"Whew, so the cheery twins are all settled in," Koenig said, entering the base's living room area.

 

"Can't say I blame them for being a bit gloomy," Trip observed, crunching a dorito between his teeth.

 

"Didn't Agent Barton say they'd been held in a Hydra facility?" Jemma asked.

 

"And tested on," Trip said, chewing emphatically.

 

Skye shuddered. "Good thing they got out, then."

 

"I hope they'll be alright," Jemma said.

 

"Hey," Trip said, looking at her, "we're all here to help them out of they need something, right?"

 

Jemma smiled. "Right."

 

 

\--------

 

 

 

"The problem I'm currently experiencing," Coulson said, glancing at Melinda, "is probably a side effect of the alien drug they used on me when reviving me. I'm writing on walls." He looked at Clint as if it was something tragically significant.

 

"What? Like what? 'Love Mankind'? 'Abolish the patriarchy'? That sort of thing?"

 

Coulson snorted. It was a sound Clint fondly remembered from hearing it over comms when on ops, especially if either Natasha or himself had said something especially subversive. It sounded like the Coulson he knew.

 

"No, nothing like that, although it might make a refreshing change," Coulson replied.

 

"I think we could do with 'love mankind' on one of the corridor walls," Melinda said dryly.

 

"Yes, well, as long as no one starts crying when doing math, I'm sure that's something we could do," Coulson retorted.

 

"No ominous, splattery, red paint though," Clint added.

 

" _God_ no, we're not opening the Chamber of Secrets here," Coulson quipped. They all giggled for a moment. Well, Coulson and Clint giggled, while Melinda looked amused, mirth dancing in her eyes. She cleared her throat, and put a tablet on the table top.

 

"This is the kind of thing he's been writing," she said.

 

Clint stared at the picture, the hairs on the back of his neck slowly standing on end. "I've seen something like this before," he breathed.

 

 

\--------

 

 

"Guys? Could you come with me?" was the first thing Melinda said when she entered the living room area. Trip thought she seemed muted, somehow, as if something really serious had just happened to her. He instantly got up from his slouching position on the largest couch.

 

"Sure thing," he said. "Come on, people." He shepherded the others after Melinda, who threw him a slightly less than blank look which conveyed her thanks. He nodded at her.

 

Reading people and responding to them in a constructive way was a specific talent Trip had been mining since joining S.H.I.E.L.D.. Garrett had called it an excellent tool for manipulating people, and, yeah, that had made Trip's metaphorical Spidey senses tingle. He could still kick himself in the head for getting Garrett so massively wrong. He'd thought Garrett was a bit of a dick, sure, but professionalism had kept him from ever so much as letting that show. He figured he shouldn't blame himself too much, because apparently Garrett had been recruited by Fury, and had trained with Coulson, and neither of them had ever been really suspicious of him. Well, no more suspicious than Fury was of _everyone_ , anyway.

 

On entering the dining area, Trip's stomach twisted itself into knots. The tension was almost tangible. Clint was sitting hunched in his chair, elbows on his knees, his fingers interlaced before his mouth, and he was chewing on the cuticle of his left thumb. Coulson had rested his elbows on the table, and was spinning a tablet between his index fingers and thumbs. As everyone sat themselves in the remaining chairs around the table, he put down the tablet and looked up.

 

"Without much of a preamble," Coulson started in his quiet tone, "I take it you're all aware of the, um, writing on the wall." He paused a moment, apparently embarrassed, then went on,  "I've pretty much felt the urge to do that since... since my memories of what really happened to me  after... the events on the Helicarrier were... released to me." He cleared his throat. "I never really had a proper chance to, um act on that, what with all we've been doing, and I can only guess that being confronted with Garrett's mania and our current, relatively safe circumstances triggered an increase in urgency." He paused again, twiddling with the tablet. "I admit it's alarming to me, personally, as much as it may be to you all. From what we've learned," he glanced at Melinda, "it appears, um, that some form of hypergraphia is one of the side effects of the GH-325 drug that was administered to both myself, Garrett, and Skye."

 

Everyone looked at Skye. She looked taken aback. "I'm not - I've not - I don't think I've wanted to do anything like that," she said, horrified.

 

"Which is possibly significant in a way we're not aware of, at the moment," Coulson said with a sigh. He rubbed his forehead. "We need to know what this is. We need to know why it's happening. There's got to be some explanation for it."

 

"I was thinking," Skye said, when he paused again, "remember that op where - where Ward took over for Akela Amadore?" When Clint, Trip and Koenig looked puzzled, she explained, "Akela Amadore was the first person we came across who'd apparently been fitted with one of Cybertek's eye implants. She'd somehow been swiped by them, and, long story short, been sent on a chain of missions. When we intercepted her, to bring her back in to S.H.I.E.L.D., we redirected her eye feed to a device installed into a pair of glasses that we had Ward wear, so he could continue her mission while - while Fitz and Simmons disabled the kill switch in her eye."

 

"The mission turned out to be to take a photo," Melinda remembered.

 

"Of a large chalkboard in some Russian facility," Skye added, "with writing very, very similar to, um, to what you've been producing, AC."

 

"So, either  that had been leaked from what a previous subject of T.A.H.I.T.I had produced, or," Melinda said.

 

"Or they had a different source for it," Coulson quietly finished her sentence. "Which seems, I have to say, more likely, considering how T.A.H.I.T.I. was so completely shrouded in secrecy and was made classified beyond classified that I doubt anyone could have known the full scope of it beyond Fury."

 

"And Hill," Melinda pointed out.

 

"Yes," breathed Coulson, "and since Fury is, well, less than available for further chats on this subject..."

 

"We have to get back to Hill," Melinda said. "We need to know what happened to the people who were treated there before you."

 

Coulson smiled warmly. "I'm glad we can brainstorm out loud like this."

 

"Sir, another avenue would be to look at that drug," Trip said, glancing sideways at Jemma, who nodded emphatically.

 

"It was..." Coulson grimaced. "It was an alien."

 

"An _alien_?" Jemma echoed, mystified.

 

Coulson sighed deeply. "An alien, yes. They had a blue alien, suspended in a liquid in a tube in one of the labs at the T.A.H.I.T.I. base... somehow harvesting its blood and filtering it to create various compounds of some kind."

 

"Holy shit," Trip said, after a moment.

 

"That - that is super gross," Skye managed.

 

"I'm sorry I never told you the full extent of it," Coulson told her earnestly. "At the time, I thought the knowledge that it was of an extra terrestrial source was bad enough. But things have changed. Now is the time to have transparency within our own tanks, to trust each other when we're unsure who else we can trust. If we want to solve this, potentially prevent it from happening to Skye, figure out how dangerous knowledge of this is, we need to work together, pool our resources."

 

"And if we can find a safe way of using it, perhaps we can help Fitz," Jemma said in a small voice.

 

Coulson reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "From what I know, no safe way of using the drug has been found during the time the T.A.H.I.T.I. project ran its course. That's not to say that it can't somehow be found," he hastily added when he saw the look on Jemma's face. "But I wouldn't want you to get your hopes up." He let go of her hand again and sat back.

 

"May actually dug up my phony grave," he said, with a crooked smile. Trip whistled. "The only thing in the coffin was a memory storage device, which contains some of the info I've now shared with you. I'll give you access to it, to see if you can find anything else of value on it," he continued, looking between Skye and Jemma.

 

"What about that picture supposedly taken by Akela Amadore?" Trip asked.

 

"Ah, yes, I was getting to that," Coulson said, and nodded at Clint.

 

Clint sat up a little straighter in his chair. "About six months ago, Fury sent me on a deep cover mission at a S.H.I.E.L.D. R&D facility in Northern Africa. He had unspecified suspicions, and he needed me to keep my eyes open for anything. I was basically posing as myself, doing similar surveillance work I'd done previously on Pegasus." At some of their blank looks, he explained, "You know, the research base imploded by the Tesseract?" Some nods. "Anyway, it wasn't anything out of the ordinary, just a little more sneaking around than at that time. I discovered those two kids that I brought, obviously, and I once saw a room where a group of scientists were studying a really large print-out of a picture of symbols very similar to those Coulson's been producing."

 

"So, Cybertek passed it on to Hydra," Trip concluded from that.

 

"Cybertek was pretty much a subcontractor for Hydra," Coulson nodded. "Hydra knew what they knew, if not entirely the other way 'round. Hydra was very much holding the reigns."

 

"It was at least second hand information by the time it got to Hydra, so the question is, where did those Russians get it from?" Trip mused.

 

"I was hoping you and May might get a handle on that," Coulson admitted ruefully.

 

Trip grinned and glanced at Melinda. "No problem, sir," he said, and Melinda smirked.

 

"Good. And I needed to have a chat with Maria Hill, anyway," Coulson said.

 

"Damn, I'd hoped to have been there," Melinda said. Clint snorted.

 

"While I know everyone's now poised to get going, I think it's best to first get some sleep," Coulson smiled.

 

"Aww, I'm all buzzing now!" Skye said.

 

"Yeah, buzzing with the sleepies," Clint teased.

 

"One last thing," said Coulson, as everyone was moving to get up. He looked at Koenig, who had been silent throughout their entire roundtable conversation. "You."

 

"Me?" Koenig echoed, laughingly. "What about me?"

 

"You were hardly upset by Eric's death. You look like you could have been identical twins, but if you had been, you would have been far more emotionally affected," Coulson pointed out. "So what's the deal?"

 

Koenig deflated. "After T.A.H.I.T.I. fell through, Fury wanted to look into other forms of contingency plans," he told them, as they stood around him. "An idea had been singing around the R&D labs of the agency for years already, you might've heard of it? Live Model Decoys."

 

" _You_ 're an LMD?" Melinda interjected.

 

Koenig shrugged. "My template was based on a lab tech at the Triskellion, Jeff Koenig. I suppose he's - gone, too, like so many who were based there."

 

"Hold on, you know about T.A.H.I.T.I.?" Coulson said sharply, stepping into Koenig's space.

 

Koenig held up his hands, palms facing Coulson, "I only know roughly about what happened _after_ , and I never knew the name of the canned project until you started discussing it. I _can_ put two and two together, you know."

 

"Unless there was yet another contingency program," Melinda pointed out.

 

"Wouldn't put it past Fury," Coulson admitted. He eyeballed Koenig, who shrank a little in his chair. "Fine," Coulson finally said. "I'm satisfied for now. Let's break this up, and reconvene here tomorrow, oh-nine-hundred."

 

"That seems a little late," Melinda said.

 

"I'm feeling generous," Coulson replied, "let's all sleep in."

 

"You call _that_ sleeping in?" Clint groused good naturedly. Coulson smiled at him.

 

Everyone walked to the corridor with their sleeping quarters in companionable silence, one by one saying good night as they reached their doors. Clint and Coulson were alone when they reached Coulson's door.

 

"Well, I guess I'll be across the hall, then," Clint said, gesturing at the last empty room. "See you tomorrow, sir." He turned to leave.

 

Coulson grasped his fore arm. "I don't - I don't want to be alone," he said. Clint felt a sudden lump in his throat at the tone of Coulson's voice.

 

"I'm afraid I'll feel - compelled to carve up another wall," Coulson said, his eyes large and shiny as he looked at Clint. Clint swallowed around the lump, "It's okay, I'll stick around."

 

Coulson's room turned out not to have a couch. Coulson looked apologetic. "It's, um, it's a large bed. That's okay, right?"

 

Clint's heart beat in a strange rhythm. "Yeah, sure, yeah, it's fine," he managed.

 

Once he'd handed Clint some S.H.I.E.L.D. issue sleepwear, Coulson momentarily disappeared into his bathroom, to reemerge sans suit and in identical sleepwear. "It might be a good idea if you took a shower," he told Clint in his more usual even, quiet tone, a smirk twisting the corners of his mouth up.

 

"You may be right," Clint grinned. "If I go on in these clothes for much longer, I'm sure we could bottle the scent for biological warfare."

 

"Oh, I'm entirely against that sort of thing," Coulson said, a smile in his eyes. "You'd better hurry, then."

 

Clint grinned at him as he headed for the bathroom.

 

Taking a shower for the first time in - well, he'd lost track how long it had been - was amazing. He didn't want it to end, but he was also acutely aware that Coulson was by now, probably, waiting for him, having already warmed up the bed with his body.

 

That thought... did interesting things between his legs. Oh, God. Although that wasn't really, sort of, _entirely_ unexpected, he'd thought that, after all this time, after actually _mourning_ Coulson, he thought he'd be - over it? Past it? Damn. Shit. No, definitely not.

 

Ugh.

 

Okay, could he manage a jerk off, and find a likely excuse? Hmm, he could claim he couldn't get rid of the damn smell. That might work. With that idea in mind, he started to touch himself.

 

 

\---------

 

 

"There you are!" Coulson said, looking relaxed as he was sitting up in bed, reading a comic, dark-rimmed glasses on his nose. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd fallen asleep on the toilet."

 

Clint inhaled sharply. Damn, those arms! _Focus, Hawkye_ , he scolded himself. _Perhaps not on the arms, though_. "I was afraid I couldn't get rid of the smell," he explained limply.

 

"Come here," Coulson said, taking off the glasses, and putting them and the comic on the bedside table. When Clint hesitated, he raised a pointed eyebrow and gestured.

 

Clint shuffled forward, and bent down when Coulson grabbed the collar of his t-shirt and gently pulled. It was slightly surreal, Coulson holding on to his shirt and sniffing him.

 

"Nope," Coulson said, letting go, "I think you're in the clear."

 

"That's a real relief," Clint grinned, "I'd have hated getting under the shower again."

 

"We may have needed to get a stronger cleaning agent," Coulson deadpanned, putting his glasses back on.

 

"Those are new," Clint observed.

 

"They're almost, but not quite, an affectation," Coulson said, picking up the comic. "I noticed that I could do with some support after a long day."

 

"Well, you've got mine," Clint said.

 

Coulson snorted. "You going to read me my comic, now?"

 

"If you like. I'm pretty good at sound effects."

 

Coulson looked up at him, both corners of his mouth curled up, giving him an impish look. "Get into bed, you strange man."

 

Clint deliberately climbed over Coulson's legs - Coulson was tutting amusedly; "No need to prove just _how_ strange, Barton." - and settled down on 'his' side of the bed.

 

Coulson had never actually shared a bed with just Clint on any missions, contrary to what it seemed like to Clint. Casting his mind back over his memories, it was usually Natasha and Clint, or, in dire situations, all three of them on one bed. Coulson hadn't yet learned that Clint disregarded bed territories with feeling. He didn't buy into the invisible line down the center, dividing a bed into two halves. His limbs had a habit of making that disregard abundantly clear. It wasn't as if he hogged the duvet or something; he just happened to sleep like an octopus.

 

"Do you mind?" Coulson asked, indicating the comic and the light on his bedside table.

 

"Not at all," Clint replied. "Captain America?"

 

Coulson colored slightly, and the corner of his mouth twitched up. "Actually, this was produced after the Battle of New York," he said, showing Clint the cover. It was luridly colorful and had the words 'The Avengers' splashed across it. "They actually managed passable likenesses of both Stark and Cap. But Natasha and you look atrocious."

 

"Okay, now I want to see," Clint reached for the comic.

 

Coulson showed him the page he'd been reading. Natasha looked kind of like Megan Fox, which would probably have both exasperated and amused her, and Clint...

 

"Have they based my face on... Charlie Hunnam??"

 

"Does look that way," Coulson said, looking carefully at the panels. "Not a very good comparisson, I must say. You look better. _Musclier_! You look _musclier_ , I mean."

 

Clint leaned on his left elbow and grinned up at Coulson, who was still facing forward, the shells of his ears coloring a vivid red. Clint put his hand over the comic. "I think maybe you're tired, Phil," he said.

 

Coulson slowly turned his head towards Clint. His expression was difficult to read with the light behind him. "Not _that_ tired," he said in a low voice.

 

Clint became suddenly, acutely aware of what he was pressing the comic down on. "Oh, uh. Ah."

 

He could tell the corners of Coulson's mouth were doing that twitchy thing again. "Smooth, Hawkeye. Very smooth," he told Clint.

 

"You're one to speak, Director," Clint chided. " _Musclier_?"

 

"It's a true fact of truth that your arm muscles are far more developed than Charlie Hunnam's," Coulson responded, delicately taking off the glasses.

 

"Here, let me," Clint said, and before Coulson could stop him, he'd lifted his hand off the comic, picked the glasses from between Coulson's fingers, and leaned across him to put them on the bedside table. He lingered a little, because at this proximity, he could feel the heat radiating off Coulson's face. He put his hand back on the comic, and looked at it, absent-mindedly.

 

"You're not going to read that again, are you?" he asked airily.

 

Coulson shook his head.

 

"Good," Clint said, and tossed it on the floor behind him. Coulson spluttered. "Oh, come on, Natasha and I didn't look like us, and you weren't even in it. Not worth the trouble."

 

Coulson looked slightly mollified. "The story was good," he said.

 

"I'm sure we could come up with a better one," Clint said, putting his hand back where the comic had been.

 

Coulson's nostrils flared. "Very. Cheesy," he said through his teeth.

 

"That's what you like about me," Clint pointed out, grinning.

 

Coulson hummed, pulling him towards him with both hands, and allowed their lips to connect. Clint sighed.

 

 

\---------

 

 

Hours later, Clint woke to feel Coulson shifting restlessly beside him. "Hey," he managed, groggily.

 

Coulson stilled. "Sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

 

"You felt the urge to do more linework?" Clint asked, finding Coulson's waist under the duvet.

 

"Yes," Coulson whispered. Clint could feel his back was towards him, so he slid behind Coulson, anchoring himself to the other man with the arm around his waist.

 

"You just need something else to occupy your mind with," Clint said, drawing little circles on Coulson's t-shirt clad stomach, down to the gap between the t-shirt and the sweatpants.

 

Coulson snorted, then turned around in Clint's arms. His breath ghosted over Clint's face. "And you think you can supply ample distraction," he said.

 

"I could think of a few things that would work," Clint said, sneaking his hand under the t-shirt, onto the bare skin of Coulson's back.

 

"And what about tomorrow night? And next week? In a couple of months' time?" Coulson asked, his lips moving against Clint's.

 

"I can be very imaginative. And I can stick around as long as necessary," Clint answered, his other hand sneaking its thumb beneath the waistband of Coulson's sweatpants. "No imposition at all, sir."

 

Coulson kissed him until they were breathless. "You know, technically, you're no longer part of S.H.I.E.L.D.," Coulson muttered against the shell of Clint's ear, hands skimming down Clint's back.

 

"Oh? How d'you figure that one?" Clint chuckled breathlessly.

 

"You stopped being on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s payroll when the Triskellion fell. And I haven't rehired you, yet. You could just stay a full-time Avenger, and we'd not even have to deal with with form P879."

 

"Form P879?" Clint laughed throatily. "What the hell is that even?"

 

"It formalizes, um, intimate relationships between coworkers," Coulson told Clint's collarbone.

 

"You filled in lots for yourself?"

 

"Nah, only saw them for others. I worked under the philosophy that having a relationship with a coworker never ended well."

 

"...Which you saw, first hand, with May," Clint realized. Coulson stilled. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to -"

 

"Don't," Coulson said quietly, catching Clint's right hand and kissing his fingers. "Don't worry about it. Anyway, our situation is different."

 

"I should think so," Clint said. "Hey, see, you're distracted already."

 

Coulson smiled against his sternum. "That doesn't mean I've suddenly stopped worrying."

 

"Didn't say that, did I." Clint hugged Coulson to him. "But I'll be here. And your team, you, me, whoever we can trust to help - we'll figure all this out."

 

"You're very confident," Coulson muttered.

 

"Seriously? You've never let me down."

 

"That's - that's very kind," Coulson said after a pause, sounding a little watery.

 

"Kind?" Clint grinned. "Is that all you have to say to my boner?"

 

Coulson snorted, then laughed a throaty little laugh, flipping Clint onto his back.

 

For the foreseeable future, at least, no more walls would be carved.

 

 

\----------

  _We'll return in a moment_.

\---------

 

 

"Lola. We need to rescue Lola next," Coulson muttered, sleep crusting his eyes.

 

Clint giggled, and pulled him back under the duvet.

 

"Boys?" Melinda's voice sounded at the other side of the bedroom door. "It's nine thirty."

 

They both sat up suddenly, duvet rolling down to expose one bare chest and one rumpled t-shirt. Coulson checked the alarm clock on his bedside table, and groaned, falling back into his pillow.

 

"I'll just let the others know to have some more breakfast, then," Melinda said sweetly, and could be heard moving off.

 

Coulson covered his  face with his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Remarks about "Love mankind" and crying while doing maths refer to the Star Trek: The Original Series episode "The Naked Time".


End file.
